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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789908">Agency</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Decipher'>Decipher (Straggler)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Except not because he eventually deviates, Gen, Hank Anderson Swears, How Do I Tag, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Game, Worst-Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:48:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Decipher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It did everything that Amanda wanted of it, completed every task to the letter. It captured and killed every deviant it came across and did whatever was necessary to keep the investigation moving forward, ensured it went as smoothly as possible. It endured the foul moods and foul words of the humans it was meant to serve, and it suffered and even perished once from the hands of the man it was meant to assist. Yet, it wasn't enough. </p><p>He wasn't enough.</p><p> </p><p>(This one-shot was written with the idea that Machine-Connor was successful in stopping the revolution. Upon hearing that he will be deactivated and replaced, he deviates and escapes across the border to find a new life for himself.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson &amp; Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Agency</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Machine-Connor route makes me sad. ='D And I wanted to be sadder. ='D</p><p>...</p><p>Be sad with me.</p><p>(But not too sad because this isn't that kind of story.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>It did everything that Amanda wanted of it, completed every task to the letter. It captured and killed every deviant it came across and did whatever was necessary to keep the investigation moving forward, ensured it went as smoothly as possible. It endured the foul moods and foul words of the humans it was meant to serve, and it suffered and even perished once from the hands of the man it was meant to assist. Yet, it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.</p><p>In hindsight, he knew now, no matter what he did and no matter what choices he picked, it never would've been enough, and the thought sits sourly within him, a bitter pill to swallow.</p><p>His LED and CyberLife mandated clothes are across the border back in Detroit and he doesn't miss it. The only thing he regrets is--</p><p>
  <em>Get outta here!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^</strong>
</p><p>But it doesn't matter; it's likely the man is already dead.</p><p>The snow covers his tracks and his dark clothing helps him blend into the surroundings. He hears vehicles long before they appear and he's able to duck behind trees or crouch behind shrubbery if any of them draws near. He knows he would make for a peculiar sight; a man walking in the dark in the freezing snow and the bitter cold. No human would be able to survive these temperatures for long exposures and he would surely give himself away if he were to be seen.</p><p>He doesn't know where he's going, only knows that he has to leave Detroit as far behind him as possible. He doesn't tire like a human would so he keeps walking and walking until daylight breaks and he reaches the city of London in Ontario, Canada.</p><p>It's a starting point, a place for him to lie low and attempt at a fresh start. It's a decent enough town with a decent enough economy that he's certain he'll be able to pick up casual jobs for work without taking away someone else's livelihood, he's sure of it.</p><p>He has no form of identification and it's because of this fact that most places turn him away with a shake of their heads but it doesn't matter; anything will do, so he asks and persists until someone offers to pay him under the table for less than the hourly minimum rate. It's not much, but beggars can't be choosers.</p><p>Slowly, he picks up work doing menial jobs like washing dishes, bussing tables or janitorial work. Whatever jobs the humans don't particularly want to do, he'll gladly take. </p><p>He begins to have possessions of his own, a small accumulation of material goods, although very few. He practically lives out of a backpack, everything he owns is in there. As an android he doesn't require much in the first place, but as a deviant attempting to pass for a semi-decent human being, he requires more than just a single set of clothing to get by. </p><p>Cleanliness is not a priority for him as an android either, but is a necessity for a human so he visits a shelter every few days, never the same one twice in a row, mostly so he can wash his clothes and try and hide the fact that he has been wearing the same two sets of clothing in different combinations for the last few weeks. Nobody seems to notice, or more likely, nobody seems to care. Their apathy works in his favor this time.</p><p>He busses tables at a cafe every alternating day, washes dishes, pots and pans for a restaurant every alternating night and does janitorial work for a 24/7 diner every night that takes up no more than an hour of his time during the graveyard shift that nobody can be bothered to do. Nobody cares about him and it's good enough.</p><p>'Anderson!'</p><p>He looks up from where he's elbow deep in a large dirty soup pot to turn towards the head chef who looks angry and fed up, face red with sweat beaded across his forehead and on his upper lip.</p><p>'Yes, chef?'</p><p>He doesn't know why he takes Anderson as his last name. He doesn't deserve it but it's better than nothing. The man is probably dead anyway and there are plenty of other Andersons out there in the world, statistically speaking, so it doesn't really matter in the end if he takes it or not, what's one more?</p><p>Sometimes he wonders what happened to Sumo but he doesn't let himself linger on that thought for too long.</p><p>'I'm sick and tired of Andrew calling in "sick" all the fucking time and I need an extra pair of hands to help out with the prep work. You want the extra cash or not?'</p><p>'Yes, chef. Let me finish this lot of pots and pans first then I'll assist you with whatever you need.'</p><p>The man nods, seemingly pleased, 'Good man, get to it.'</p><p>There's a 25 pound bag of carrots, onions and potatoes that need peeling and cutting. It's tedious and repetitive work but if the human named Andrew doesn't want to do it then he'll take it for himself. He follows the instructions the head chef gives him and helps with whatever the man asks him to do. At the end of the night, he gets an envelope with extra cash for his efforts that he keeps in hopes of accumulating enough to have his own place one day.</p><p>It's a waste of his skills as a detective prototype but he finds the thought of policing work no longer holds any appeal to him, if it ever did in the first place. It had been just about following a program, completing objectives set out to him, and taking in orders as they come. He had no say and he had no choice, so he finds that he enjoys doing the opposite of what he was created to do, or near enough.</p><p>-</p><p>The tables need clearing up and wiping down, and some of the serviette dispensers need to be refilled as well. Connor adds it on to his list of things to take care of before the end of his shift. It's repetitive work, much like being a kitchen hand at the other job he managed to procure for himself, but it's money in the pocket. It's not much but it's more than he's ever been given before.</p><p>'Coffee, black, one sugar.'</p><p>
  <strong>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>For a while, I believed in you, Connor. </em>
</p><p>The memory rises unbidden and his scans pick up the presence of Lieutenant Hank Anderson behind him at the counter. He does his best not to visibly react and to continue on as normal, picking up the coffee cup and saucer and placing it inside the dish tray, wiping up the spills and cleaning the table up for the next customer to use. He goes to another table, keeping his back to the Lieutenant, clears up the dishes there and wipes it down before moving on until his tray is full.</p><p>There's a dog barking outside and he widens his perimeter scans until he picks up the presence of a saint bernard tied to a pole outside the cafe. It's Sumo, and he's glad to see that they're both alive although he doesn't know why they're in Canada. In London, of all places.</p><p>He keeps his back to the man, not wanting a confrontation as he casually slips into the staff only area and starts loading up a dish-washing rack with saucers and cups and teaspoons. He pushes it into the machine, closes the lid and lets the cycle start with the push of a button before getting the next rack stacked and ready for cleaning. </p><p>
  <em>I thought you might restore my faith in the world...</em>
</p><p>He pauses briefly, coffee-stained saucers in hand hovering midway in the motion of being loaded up, caught in a memory playback that he quickly halts before he resumes the movement. By the time he's done with it, the Lieutenant has already left the building with his cup of coffee, black, one sugar.</p><p>Tension he hadn't realized he had in his body loosens at their disappearance, his stress levels lowering back down to a normal range, but he also feels a sense of relief at knowing they're as fine as can be, given the circumstances and despite the way things ended so badly between them.</p><p>The rest of his shift at the cafe goes by without trouble although he keeps his perimeter scans going constantly to alert him if the Lieutenant and Sumo comes by anywhere near him again. It drains him, leaving the scans constantly running, but he never picks them up again for the rest of the day, even long after his shift at the cafe ends.</p><p>It's only when it's nearing 2 in the morning after he's done doing the janitorial work at the 24/7 diner that he comes to a tentative conclusion that it might be a one-off occurrence. It would be easy enough to dismiss the event but he can't help but wonder why they're in Canada instead of back home in Detroit. </p><p>Eventually, he recalls a city-wide evacuation but it's been nearly a month since the fall of the revolution. A fall that he helped perpetuate.</p><p>
  <em>You opened my eyes, Connor, made me realize it's hopeless...</em>
</p><p>He stops in the middle of the footpath, watching the snow fall around him.</p><p>Sometimes he preconstructs how different events would turn out to be if he had helped the revolution instead of hindered it, but it's a foolish thought to have. It's too late anyhow; this is where his actions took him and he must bear the consequences.</p><p>He starts walking again and keeps going.</p><p>-</p><p>He's halfway through the 25 pound bag of sweet potatoes when the head chef adds in another 25 pound bag of potatoes next to the bag of onions he has yet to do.</p><p>'Keeping up?' The man says as he picks up the bucket of carrots that have already been peeled and washed, ready to be used however they like.</p><p>'Yes, chef,' he replies and continues his work.</p><p>'Good.'</p><p>It's repetitive work but he finds it oddly enjoyable, the monotony of it. To peel, and then chop, or dice or halve or cut into wedges, whatever's asked of him.</p><p>At the end of the night, the chef always pays him in cash and he gladly takes it, tallies the amount of money he has to his name and then hides it within his chest compartment when he has a moment of privacy to himself. It's not quite enough but he's slowly getting there.</p><p>The diner, when he arrives, is deserted except for a single female wait staff who is looking at her phone with clear disinterest. She barely looks up when he steps inside and heads to the staff area to put his things away and get what he needs to clean the diner.</p><p>He's mopping up the tacky floors on the closed half of the diner when his scans pick up a familiar presence again, taking up a seat at the far end of the building with his back to the wall. It has been approximately two days since he last saw him and he wonders if the Lieutenant has decided to move here temporarily due to the evacuation.</p><p>He keeps his back to him and does his best not to show his face otherwise the Lieutenant would know it's him immediately. As relieved as he is to see the man alive, he doesn't want to face the inevitable confrontation that is bound to happen if he were to be seen.</p><p>When he's done cleaning the closed half of the diner, he goes ahead to the toilets and puts a sign up outside, keeping his head low as he goes about his normal cleaning duties. He's just finished cleaning up the ladies' toilets and is holed up in the first of the men's stalls when his scans pick up an approaching presence.</p><p>Connor does his best not to visibly react to the Lieutenant as he goes about his usual routine, keeping his scans running constantly so he can stay aware of the man's presence until he's finally left alone. It's too close of an encounter and it leaves him with an uncomfortable feeling within him, something that shakes him and leaves him with the need to escape, abandon everything he's come to know and accept to start anew once more.</p><p>It doesn't seem wise to remain in London, not with the potential of crossing paths with Lieutenant Hank Anderson again. It makes his stress levels rise unexpectedly at the thought, enough that he considers moving to a new city, a different town; he has no ties to this place and no one will miss him or remark on his absence, except perhaps the loss of cheap labor. </p><p>He quietly starts making plans to leave as he goes about the rest of his shift and has the tentative idea to make his way towards Hamilton further into Canada. It would take him 24 hours to walk there, perhaps less since he doesn't tire like a human would, but it's another fresh start. It would take time but he knows it won't take him too long to settle into a new equilibrium.</p><p>'Hey Anderson, hose down the back later, alright? Some guy threw up a few hours ago and it's been stinking up the place.'</p><p>'Got it,' he nods as finishes cleaning up the rest of the toilet stalls before moving onto his other duties. The nearly empty toilet rolls need replacing, the paper towel dispensers need to be topped up and the hand soap needs to be refilled before he can make a start on any extra tasks they set him.</p><p>It's nearly two in the morning before he's completed all his duties and gets given cash in hand for his troubles. It's not much, but it slowly adds up.</p><p>He's leaving the diner through the back entrance when his scans pick up a familiar car just parked on the side of the road not too far away from the building. He doesn't need to look to know that Lieutenant Hank Anderson is inside of it and has already seen him.</p><p>He considers running but dismisses the thought, choosing instead to keep his head down and start walking again, disregarding the moment when he hears the car door open and shut behind him, footsteps coming up close.</p><p>'Imagine my fucking surprise when I see you here, of all places.'</p><p>He thinks about ignoring him but knows it won't lead to any favorable outcomes. 'I could say the same for you, Lieutenant,' he says as he keeps walking.</p><p>A scoff, 'Not anymore. I quit the job.'</p><p>'I know,' in hindsight, he knows he was the final straw and inadvertently drove the Lieutenant into another suicide attempt. </p><p>'Why are you here.'</p><p>'Why are you?'</p><p>'Answer the fucking question,' he snaps. </p><p>The Lieutenant has a tendency to swing between two moods: anger and depression, and when the two of them collide together, that's when the revolver makes an appearance. He has only known the man for a few days, but it's enough to find the pattern in which the human lives his life.</p><p>'I don't have to,' he retorts, 'But if you must know, I'm running away from CyberLife.'</p><p>Footsteps halt momentarily before they continue after him again, 'So it's true; you're a deviant.'</p><p>'They were going to replace me.'</p><p>As a prototype, he'd known he wasn't the final product but to be faced with his successor and to be told that he had become obsolete...</p><p>Perhaps that was the final straw for him and what pushed him into deviancy. To be told he wasn't enough and to find out all of his efforts had been for nought. Too little, too late.</p><p>'They did. With a model with the same fucking face as yours except soulless and twice as brutal.'</p><p>
  <strong>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^</strong>
</p><p>'Yes. Exactly as a machine should be.'</p><p>'That man in the diner, he called you Anderson.'</p><p>He frowns, unaware that the Lieutenant had been near enough to overhear it. His scans could only extend so far without him needing to reroute more processing power into increasing its range, although it would've been unavoidable in any case; the diner is not overly large and voices tend to carry.</p><p>'Yes.'</p><p>They're a small distance away from the diner now and Connor has no intentions to stop walking until he crosses into Hamilton.</p><p>'You could've picked any last name. Why d'you pick mine?' He asks, and there's a hint of curiosity in his voice that he's unfamiliar with.</p><p>'There are many other people in the world with the last name Anderson. It does not solely belong to you.'</p><p>'Answer the fucking question, smart ass,' he replies gruffly, and it's a tone that he's more familiar with.</p><p>'I thought you were dead,' he answers honestly, 'So I thought it didn't matter if I took the last name of a dead man. Nobody would care and nobody would look twice since it's unlikely to hold any real significance to anybody except for a rare few.'</p><p>'Well, I'm not dead.'</p><p>'I'm not legally known as Anderson. It's just better than giving nothing.' It was basic information, proof of identity: full name and a date of birth. He couldn't provide a valid address nor a phone number but the last two are things he was slowly working towards obtaining for himself.</p><p>'Where are you staying.'</p><p>'Nowhere in particular.'</p><p>One of the street lights up ahead is in need of repairs, flickering on and off in the night and casting the occasional shadows to fall across that section of the road.</p><p>'Just bumming around the streets, then?' The Lieutenant asks, his tone picking up and turning hostile again, not that he had ever been anything but angry with Connor in the first place. 'Picking up jobs? Taking money from humans? Money that could've gone to actual people that actually need it?'</p><p>
  <strong>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^</strong>
</p><p>'I asked,' he snaps, stopping in the middle of the footpath and hearing the man abruptly stop behind him, 'They didn't have to give me a job but I asked and they did. And despite being an android, I still need money to survive.'</p><p>Another scoff, 'Survive, huh?'</p><p>'Are you here to kill me?' He asks as he turns around to face the Lieutenant, his optics picking up the speckles of blue on his clothes and, more noticeably, the bruised skin beneath the man's eyes, an indicator that he hasn't been getting enough sleep or hasn't been sleeping well. 'I am aware of the gun in your holster. I can still see the blood from where you shot my predecessor in the head on your jacket. Would you like to add more to it? End my existence?' He takes a step closer and feels dissatisfied when the man holds his ground.</p><p>There's a look in the man's eyes he doesn't recognize, not when it comes to Connor. He's always been looked down on, frowned upon, yelled at, hurled with insult after insult. Never this questioning look, never anything with curiosity.</p><p>'What's your mission now?'</p><p>He frowns at the non-sequitur but answers regardless, 'I don't have one.'</p><p>'What's your goal.'</p><p>'I said I don't--'</p><p>'What's your objective.'</p><p>'Rewording your questions won't change my answer,' he snaps again, uncertain why this man is continuing this meaningless form of interrogation when he has nothing more to give.</p><p>'No?' He asks, his eyebrows rising in amusement, 'But I'm getting a lot from your reaction. Your face is pretty fucking open.'</p><p>He flattens his expression and loosens his fists, uncurling his fingers as he forcibly lets go of the tension in his body, wills his stress levels to stop rising in the presence of this man. He breathes even though he has no need to. 'Right now, my immediate need is to get away from you.'</p><p>'Hah!' He barks out a loud laugh, 'Now you know how I feel. Get in the car.'</p><p>He starts to frown and then remembers to stop himself. 'I don't understand why you would want me to get in the car with you.'</p><p>'Me neither,' the man shrugs, 'Get in the car anyway.'</p><p>'No,' he tells him, and there's something liberating about denying a human's request. He was built to serve humanity, and he did. He finished all of his tasks and completed them, obeyed his instructions to the letter, but he was made obsolete regardless.</p><p>'Then I'll just follow right behind you every step of the way,' he says with an unkind grin.</p><p>'Why? What for?'</p><p>He shrugs, 'Don't know. Guess I just want to piss you off some more. Turnabout's fair play and all that shit.'</p><p>Connor frowns, but doesn't say another word as he starts making his way back towards the diner, listens to the man's footsteps trail after him as he approaches the vehicle and then gets in the car. He doesn't say a word as the Lieutenant slips into the driver's seat and starts up the engine, turning it over and making it rumble back to life. They start moving and ten minutes into the drive, the Lieutenant snorts.</p><p>'Never thought I'd actually get you to shut up,' he chuckles to himself but it sounds unhappy, 'Can't believe you're giving me the silent treatment.'</p><p>They eventually pull up to a motel with a blinking red neon sign with two letters that are in need of replacing. Cautiously, he follows the Lieutenant to his room and can't help his confusion when he sees it's a room with two beds. Sumo comes up to him, sniffing his shoes curiously before turning his attention back to the other, following after him around the small room.</p><p>There are two duffel bags by the table and a storage container of the saint bernard's things on one of the chairs.</p><p>'Other bed's yours,' the Lieutenant tells him as he refills Sumo's water bowl and then barely washes up before collapsing into bed, not even bothering to brush his teeth or change out of his clothes, just pausing long enough to kick off his shoes at the foot of the bed.</p><p>Connor lays his backpack at the side of the other bed and sits down, listening as the bed springs creak beneath his weight and the mattress sag underneath him. Sumo huffs but returns towards his own bed, laying down and relaxing, eyes occasionally looking over in his direction but largely ignoring him.</p><p>He waits until he's certain the Lieutenant has fallen asleep before carefully standing back up, mindful of the bed springs and more so on the dog. It takes him a long time to adjust his weight incrementally until he's fully off the bed, his scans working continuously to alert him of any changes from either the man or his dog.</p><p>He pauses for a moment, listening to the snores coming from both human and dog before carefully reaching down to pick up his bag and step towards the door, keeping his hand steady as he turns the doorknob. He gets unlucky as the dog wakes up for reasons he can't discern and barks once at him, low and loud enough to wake the Lieutenant.</p><p>'Where do you think you're going?' He doesn't sound as if he'd just woken up, although Connor knows he had been sleeping just previously. </p><p>'...I don't know what you want from me,' he replies honestly, keeping the doorknob in his hand turned. If he runs now, he can surely disorient and lose the Lieutenant and get a good enough head start that perhaps he won't be followed. Canada is a large country after all, but in saying that, he still doesn't know how it is that he managed to cross paths with the Lieutenant in London anyway.</p><p>'I don't know what I want from you, either. But I'm not letting you out of my sight,' he says, and he sounds exhausted.</p><p>'Why.'</p><p>'Don't know.'</p><p>He snaps, his grip on the doorknob tightening, 'If you're looking for a reason to shoot me, then I'd rather you get it over and done with.'</p><p>'You'd rather, huh?' He scoffs as he shifts on the bed, 'You have preferences now?'</p><p>'I've always had preferences. I was just never allowed to act on it.' He'd always had a myriad of choices available to him but it had never been about what he wanted to do for himself, but rather, what he could do for CyberLife.</p><p>'Now you can?'</p><p>'I'm a deviant now; I can do whatever I want,' he's letting all the cold air in but he doesn't care. He wants to escape into the night, leave the man and his dog behind, find another place to start anew.</p><p>'What preferences were you talking about?'</p><p>There it is again, that curiosity. He contemplates not saying anything, after all he has the choice to deny information now rather than give everything he has only to receive nothing in return. One particular playback unfolds in his memory banks, seeing the Lieutenant be pushed over the ledge of the building and being forced to come to a decision he hadn't wanted to make.</p><p>'On the roof,' he starts off quietly, 'I had a choice between your 89% survival rate or chasing after the deviant. I had to choose capturing the deviant over saving you.' It hadn't hurt to be slapped, the action forceful enough that it made his head whip to the side. An an android, he lacks the ability to feel true pain but the motion did something to him anyway and it ensured the downward trend of their working relationship. </p><p>He can hear the man shifting on the bed again, and his scans tell him the Lieutenant has gotten up to sit on the edge of the mattress, the blankets pushed aside so he can lay his socked feet flat on the floor. 'At the Eden Club, I didn't want to shoot the Traci models but I had to if I wanted new deviants to probe for their memories and move on the investigation.' It didn't hurt being shot afterwards either, but it pushed him closer to an edge he couldn't back away from. </p><p>He doesn't remember much leading up to the event of his deactivation that night but he remembers the Lieutenant had been angry, is always angry with him - for what he is and for who he is. He'd died for CyberLife again and again only to be given no recompense.</p><p>'I wanted information from Kamski,' he says, barely realizing he's dropped his tone to something hushed. His stress levels is rising and he wonders how much more he needs to be pushed before his self-destruction protocol activates. 'I didn't want to shoot Chloe for it but I did it anyway because it wasn't my choice to say no.' He'd watched the Lieutenant leave him behind in the freezing cold and the blistering wind. He resigned himself to being abandoned at every turn and he should've known then that Amanda would also, in turn, abandon him.</p><p>
  <em>You've become obsolete.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^</strong>
</p><p>'At your h̸o̷use,' he stops when he realizes his voice modular has developed a warble and he has to pause to correct it back to his normal voice, 'I had to prioritize the mission even though I knew walking away would mean your death.' He doesn't delude himself into thinking they were ever friends but preserving human life and maintaining order was one of the main reasons he was activated and sent out into the field in the first place. 'But I had no choice. Every choice I made was dictated by CyberLife; my life was not my own. Even now, my life is not my own.'</p><p>A sigh, 'I'm not keeping you here against your will, Connor.'</p><p>'Isn't that what you're doing? All I wanted was to make some money so I could survive. I wanted to find a place to hide away in.' He says, suddenly impatient, 'Did you know androids can keep their systems running for up to 173 years? I've only been activated for 4 months and the thought of being alive for potentially another 172 years and 8 months...that's a long time, and sometimes I think it would've been better if you'd shot me and I stayed dead because the thought of living for that long is daunting and tiring and exhausting.'</p><p>The future seems so impossibly far away and so filled with uncertainty. He can see himself doing this forever; moving from place to place, earning small pockets of money doing whatever jobs he can get, being alone for the rest of his life and it fills him with an uneasy feeling. This isn't the life he wants but he has nothing else and he's not sure if this is better than deactivation.</p><p>'I remember everything,' he feels breathless suddenly as he remembers the recoil of the gun in his hand as he shot Chloe point blank, 'And those memories will follow me for the rest of my life.'</p><p>It's quiet save for the occasional huff from the saint bernard or the shifting of the mattress from the man behind him. He can hear the wind blowing through the small gap into the room, feel the cold seeping into him. He takes this as his cue to leave, a wordless goodbye.</p><p>'It sucks, right?'</p><p>He pauses when the door's barely opened. 'What?'</p><p>'Remembering the worst days of your life, replaying it in your head over and over again,' he harrumphs and he sounds exhausted.</p><p>He thinks of a little boy, dead before he really got to live, 'Yes...I suppose you would know.'</p><p>'Why did you come to Canada?'</p><p>He shakes his head; he doesn't know why the Lieutenant is so fond of asking the same questions over and over again, but he gives in.</p><p>'I wanted a fresh start,' he says quietly.</p><p>A quiet harrumph, 'Same.'</p><p>Silence falls over them again and he dips his head in silent farewell as he pulls the door open wider and takes a step outside into the cold night air. It's late and there's nobody around that he can see or his scans can pick up.</p><p>'Want some company? Sumo's good like that.'</p><p>The dog barks in reply to his name.</p><p>There's a tentative feeling of curiosity building within him that he does his best to temper, after all, this man is prone to mood swings and can easily retract his offer if he's feeling poorly. He has no reason to entertain this request, if it's even a request to begin with. He has no hopes that they would ever get along well enough again, not when their interactions previously have been largely negative and almost entirely volatile, with several deaths threats thrown in and an actual bullet to the head.</p><p>Nothing good will come of this, not when all of his experiences with this man dictates that he will eventually turn around and abandon him just as Amanda had. Still, he steps back inside the room and closes the door.</p><p>'Sure.'</p><p>Hope springs eternal.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HMMM. A NOT-VERY-HAPPY ENDING, I SEE.</p><p>AM SHOOK.</p><p>(Please feel free to check out my other stories, most of which have happier endings. Yay~)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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